[Immigration Headline]

reasons—I dreamt I lost a child.

The second one. I woke up.

I walked to their hammock.

The wood on the stove crackled.

The pot didn’t move.

The chicken pio-pioed.

They were not in their hammock.

I woke up again.

This time with a scream.

I pinched myself.

Slapped my face awake.

My children looked at me

like they do when I hit them

when they deserve it.

Their eyes like my eyes

without a light in them.

It wasn’t the empty pot,

the last chicken, the hammock

patched with pieces of cardboard.

It wasn’t the dream.

I wanted to wake up from this.